Screenplay of memory (01/01/17)

We were planning on changing our house. So we went to check out a house near my kindergarten school. Me and my parents. It was a sunny day, kind of day one usually remembers from ones childhood but never finds one in the calendars of adult life. Golden rays of morning sun penetrated through green canopy of huge trees. The house stood by a huge pond. My impossible house. It was a simple white washed three-storied building of moderate proportions. We went in. I don’t remember any one showing us around but there must have been one, don’t you think? A proprietor or owner may be. I remember the second floor, a large hallway filled with rubbish and litters of all kinds. Then my mother went into the kitchen and found a door that opened to nothing. There was no room, no terrace, no floor just air. It was a door to the outside on the second floor wall. I think they rejected the house immediately after that. But on our way out they decided to see what’s on the third floor. They told me to go outside wait for them. When I reached the 1st floor noticed something that wasn’t there when we went in. A flight of stairs went down to a landing and from there to somewhere else. There was light coming from wherever those stairs lead to. Brilliant white daylight. There were no basements in any of the houses in that locality. I knew that even than because I was a kid who explored those alleys during countless lunch breaks from school. As I was starting for the stairs my parents came running back to me and I was whisked away outside. They looked spooked, frightened even but was it what I saw or was it my imagination? And what about that impossible stairway? Where it leads to?

I used to have a recurrent dream as child. I don’t remember how many times I had this dream. May be once or may be countless times. That’s the peculiar thing; I am not sure about this dream. May be the first one was the real deal and others were just an echo of that dream. Our minds do that, you know? Meld dreams with real memory to make it seem relevant. Memory is a strange thing. Sometime it’s like sailing in misty waters amidst archipelagos searching for the safe haven and never finding one. The mist clouds your vision, every now and then giving you a silhouette of the shore which immediately recedes out of sight. This dream is like that ghostly shore.

In the dream I’m running. Behind me there is a bright green backdrop of trees. I think it’s a forest. In front a blue horizon hangs over a field of the color of a parrots green chest. May be someone is with me or maybe not. Two ribbons appear floating in the air in front of me. They form a knot which resembles the symbol of infinity (∞). I suddenly feel agitated. I am not in a field anymore. It seems like a forest only it’s built out of cardboard with a floor made of wooden plunks. It reminds me of a stage. I feel strangely lost.

Mr. Freud would have delighted to explain the inherent symbolism of the dream recounted in the passage above. I can imagine words like inability to make connection, inferiority complex and also may be sexual awakening. I remember many strange dreams; there are peninsulas of memories which disappeared in the mist but none of them like it. It seems dream and memory became entangled with each other and through a weak fabric of reality gave birth to this phantom of a dream.

Memories are like a screenplay. You see what you want to show your self. That’s why I can’t rely on mine too much. But still, I am sure of those dreams and that impossible stairwell to nowhere.

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